


Whispers in the Fade

by dragonswithjetpacks



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-12 03:26:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18002927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonswithjetpacks/pseuds/dragonswithjetpacks
Summary: After the events of the Fifth Blight, Alistair struggles with reality. There is still much to be done in Thedas. But he is unsure he is able to do so without his companion.





	Whispers in the Fade

“A little to the left,” Murdock called. 

Many hands shifted their grip upon the wooden frame. They relished in the smell of freshly stained wood. It was the fragrance of something new and it gave them even more motivation to use their strength to push the end of the log into the notch. A single man with acrobatic talents, though small, used hand signals atop the dock stall to guide the mayor as he shouted directions to his remaining militia. He appeared proud despite the destruction around him. There had been little to no time to repair the village. And Redcliffe had given all it could to the fight against the Blight during the past year. However, the repairs of the recently damaged dock were deemed a priority in order to resume trade throughout the northwestern part of Ferelden. The Arl declared the matter precedent in accordance to the newly appointed crown. With the rest of the country in disarray, he wanted to be first to maintain order. And with the aid of a certain Warden, he knew such a task would not prove difficult at all.  

“Beautifully done, men,” the mayor nodded as the men grunted at their final push. “Let’s take a break.” 

The dock was presented as a sort of monument for Redcliffe. A place where those within the village could set up shop for travelers. A place for folk across the waters to trade. A place for locals to gather information. The goal was to allow Redcliffe to prosper as much as possible and to obtain a head start at the end of the war that left so many in ruin. So those who stood knee deep in the shallows of lake could take a bit of pride within themselves when the market place first opened their arms to those in need. Their hands were prune and their feet soggy, though they would never admit how truly tired they were. The water gave them a bit of assistance, but it did not aid them enough to prevent aching arms. They flexed their fingers, hands, and arms, some even retreating to the tavern for further assistance. But some remained on shore, simply wishing to stretch the remaining muscle they had used.  

“Alistair!” Murdock called as he observed his men. 

The young Grey Warden obliged, jogging steadily in the still water. 

“Murdock,” he greeted with his usual grin. “What can I do for you?” 

“Nothing more, I’m afraid,” Murdock clasped him by the shoulder. 

“What do you mean?” 

“There’s been some news for you,” he stated. “I cannot say much more. It comes from the castle. Eamon requests your presence as soon as you’re able.” 

Alistair glanced behind him, witnessing his brethren spread upon the beach in relief. It was the first moment of peace he had experience since the Blight. And it was the first moment he had felt at ease. The village had kept him busy with repairs, much to his liking. And he was not eager to bid the calling of a higher command. An overwhelming tension fell upon his chest.  

“And what if I am only able once the village is secure again?” he asked. 

“I’m sorry,” Murdock shook his head. “But I believe this goes beyond even the Arl...” 

 

* * *

 

The one thing Alistair admired about Redcliffe was that he did not have to listen to the echo of his own armor clanking through the hall before he reached his destination. It was actually a rather short walk. And for that, he was forever grateful. Beyond that point, however, was within the hands of his summoner. Arl Eamon stood with hands folded awaiting his summoned guest. Alistair was used to being an overlooked companion and was not used to the polite gestures given. He awkwardly nodded and bowed upon his arrival, avoiding eye contact at all cost. 

“Alistair, how good to see you!” Eamon exclaimed from the hearth of the fire. “I do hope you’ve found comfort in your stay.” 

“I have,” he stated as he approached the step. “That’s something I’ve been meaning to speak to you about. I want nothing more than to help rebuild Ferelden.” 

“Truly spoken,” Eamon stepped toward him. “I am pleased to say I have further instructions for you regarding just that.” 

“I’ll do whatever ask, Eamon,” he shrugged. “I feel I've been put to good use with the repairs of-” 

“Alistair,” he stopped him. “I mean that there are others who need you.” 

“If Anora-” 

“More than  _that_.” 

Alistair paused. There was not a large percentage of him that wanted to admit there was more than just Ferelden. It was his home. It was what he had been fighting for and protecting for the last year. And even with the Blight, it was hard for him to want to fight for more. There was more than just his heritage that kept him from wanting to go further. But he knew that eventually he would be called to do other things. It was his duty, after all. And he had made a promise. 

“What is it, then?” he said sternly. 

“A messenger brought this to me.” 

Eamon held out a broad yellow envelope with a seal brandishing two griffins. It was easy to recognize. He took it gently into his hands, remembering the times he had witnessed Duncan ripping into the very same paper. The parchment was still fresh. And his eyes scanned quickly upon the words as he unfolded it. 

“I have been asked to travel to Amaranthine,” he said quietly.  

“I know,” Eamon nodded. “The messenger from Weisshaupt informed me.” 

Alistair quietly folded the letter. “Why didn’t they just tell me?” 

“Perhaps they knew their instructions would be a little more... real if they came from me.” 

“As if I would resist?” 

“Would you?” Arl Eamon questioned. 

There was a bit of truth in his words. Then again, with recent events, Alistair also admitted that he would argue his efforts were needed elsewhere. His mind battled day and night of what his true intentions were. If his heart lay with the Wardens. Or if it remained in Ferelden. There were very few that understood that. And those few were long gone. It was a surprise to him that there were others who knew his troubles. Then again, his reports could very well have raised other questions. 

“Would I?” Alistair jested with a shrug. “It’s hard to say with such good food to be had. I can’t say I’m that fond of fish, but I can’t say I’ve had the likes of Amaranthine.” 

His jokes would be the death of him, he was sure. It didn’t matter if it was his lack of seriousness in a decisive situation or a witty one liner in the heat of battle, it would eventually get to him. This moment, however, did not strike him as important. And he left the meeting to retreat to his room in Redcliffe castle. His room was a small one, which was no surprise. The guest rooms on the upper floor were taken. Alistair suspected it was by merchants or other nobles who wished to help Redcliffe. And he also assumed it was to the suggestions of Lady Isolde, just as they had been before. His help to end the Blight was no matter to her because of his heritage and because of his bastard name. But that did not bother him the most. 

“Hey,” her voice was smooth as her hands grazed over his shoulders the moment he entered the room. “You’ve been away all day.” 

“Yeah,” he grinned. “I’ve been working.” 

“I know,” she kissed his temple. “The repairs are coming along nicely.”  

Her lightened tune on the subjected made him perk up a bit as he took in the warmth of the room. It had a bed, a nightstand, and a chest. Which, to be honest, was more than enough for him. His armor rested within the chest, in which he kept locked until he needed it. The rest of his belongings remained in his pack resting next to the bed on his side. 

“It’s a shame I won’t see them through,” he sighed as he rested on the bed. “I really wanted to do some good here.” 

Her hands folded neatly over her torso. “I don’t know what you mean. You’ve done plenty for Redcliffe.” 

“And that has come to an end.” 

“So, they’ve finally called you,” she stepped back to sit upon the nightstand. 

“We knew this was going to happen.” 

“And you’re prepared?” 

He looked up with a reassuring smile. She was not wearing the blue and grey armor. He hair was not pinned back. Her face was not sunken. No... she was wearing a white tunic. It was tucked into cloth pants held up by a fastened leather belt. She did wear the same boots as before, though. Except they were clean this time. Her hands were also clean. And her face was not so pale. It was like he had first remembered her at Ostagar with cheeks and lips as pink as a winter sunset.  

“I have to be,” he said to her. 

His focus was dismissed by a loud knock at the door. Alistair rose quickly to greet his guest before responding.  

“I do not mean to intrude,” Teagan said as he entered. 

“Bann Teagan,” Alistair stated with surprise. “What interest could I possibly have to you at this time of night?” 

“My boy,” he said in the most calming voice, “I ask nothing of you this evening.” 

Teagan always had a way of wording things. It was more than just that. It was his tone. There was comfort and sincerity to it. And it was always easy to speak to him. It was that way even when Alistair was a boy. And it remained just as it was now. 

“I came simply to ask if there was something I could do for you.” 

“For me?” Alistair was a bit taken back. It had been a very long time since he had confided in Teagan. It was not difficult to do so. Even still, the time and the distance between them made him question just how much trust could be put onto the table. Even after the battles they had through in recent times. “You all have been very accommodating with my stay here, Teagan.” 

“I’m glad we could house you here as you awaited further instructions from Weishaupt.” 

“So, you’ve heard.” 

“It wasn’t hard to guess,” Teagan shrugged. “There are many places that were unfortunate enough to be touched by the Blight, Alistair. Ferelden took the worst of it. But truly you understand you cannot stay here. Not after-” 

“I do not need comfort or sympathy.” 

The room became frigid and cold. A chill ran down Alistair’s spine as many hands reached out to him. They brushed over his shoulders. Down his chest. Traced his spine. They clutched his forearms. Gripped his waste. Held his feet.  

“I... I didn’t mean to offend,” Teagan took a step backward toward the door. 

Alistair sighed and suddenly the room felt warm again. “I do not mean to seem bitter,” he shook his head. “Of course, we are grateful for what you have done.” 

Teagan frowned, matching that of his brow. “Of course.” 

The door shut, leaving only the sound of the flames burning by candlelight. Redcliffe was always this dark and dim. It was always humid. And the sounds were always muffled. Flashbacks of look out toward the lake came back to him. Of longing for adventure and purpose. It was ironic that now he only longed to stay. 

“He means well,” she said in his ear. 

“And you couldn’t have helped the situation at all?” he snapped. 

“You know I can’t,” her voice was weak. 

“No. You can’t, can you?” his wavered. “It’s not as if I need you. RIght now. Or at all.” 

Her head tilted as her eyes welled with tears. It wasn’t fair. He was telling her to go without saying anything at all. He looked at the wall, focusing on the bricks. Focusing on what needed to be done. What was real. He could feel her presence grow stronger for just a moment as she drew closer. Then disappear as she began to fade. 

“What are you going to tell them?” she whispered. 

“The truth, Rae,” he closed his eyes. “The truth.” 

 

 

   
 

 


End file.
